


Now That You're Around Me

by nowwhateinstein



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance, Season/Series 06, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 18:38:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13393857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowwhateinstein/pseuds/nowwhateinstein
Summary: Warning: This story contains the following tropes: FBI Ball! Diana Fowley-as-Satan! Jealous Scully! First Kiss! And more!If you’re looking for well-worn tropes, you’ve come to the right place. Enjoy!Special thanks to emsaystoyou for serving as beta and encouraging me to post this silly piece of fluffiness.





	Now That You're Around Me

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This story contains the following tropes: FBI Ball! Diana Fowley-as-Satan! Jealous Scully! First Kiss! And more!  
> If you’re looking for well-worn tropes, you’ve come to the right place. Enjoy!
> 
> Special thanks to emsaystoyou for serving as beta and encouraging me to post this silly piece of fluffiness.

“I can’t believe we have to go to this thing.” Mulder mutters the words angrily to his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he wrestles with his bow tie. He’s managed to come up with several colorful phrases to express the things he’d like to do to Kersh, but all of them fail to capture the scope of loathing he currently feels for his boss and his latest inane directive.

Three days prior, Kersh had summoned both him and Scully from what Scully had lately taken referring to as ‘Bullpen Purgatory’ to his office. “It’s been brought to my attention that neither of you have ever attended the FBI Association Charity Gala,” Kersh had told them. “While your previous AD may not have prioritized Bureau social events like the Gala, I view it as an essential component in developing pride in the Bureau’s mission and camaraderie among Bureau staff. I therefore insist that all of my Agents attend.” He’d then fixed both of them with hard stare. “Failure to do so will reflect poorly on your upcoming performance reviews.”  
They were two steps outside of Kersh’s office when he turned to Scully with a chagrined look. “Know where I can rent a tux?”

***

The lights in Scully’s window are off when he pulls up in front of her building. His finger is on her speed dial button before he notices her sitting on the front steps of the apartment building, watching him with and a bemused expression, her chin resting on her hand like a jilted prom date He glances at his watch: he’s a half hour late. 

“Sorry. I know I’m late,” he says as he steps out of the car. “I lost the battle with my bow tie.” He gestures helplessly the two ends of black silk dangling from his neck. “The last time I had to wear one of these things was at Oxford, and it came pre-tied.” Not entirely true, he muses, and wonders if Scully will call him out on his omission of the infamous Phoebe Green encounter. 

To his relief, she doesn’t. “Here,” she says instead, rising from the steps to stand in front of him. “Hold still.” 

He does, feeling a gentle tug as her slender fingers deftly craft his tie into a respectable knot by the light of the streetlamp. He’s keenly aware of how close she is to him; he can smell her perfume and even the jasmine-scented shampoo she uses. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, savoring their close contact. 

She gives it a final adjustment, then steps back with a nod of approval. “In my family, we call that a ‘ship-shape bow tie.’” She doesn’t bother to hide a smile of satisfaction.  
He bends down to examine it in the sideview mirror of the car. “I’d expect no less from the daughter of a naval officer,” he says, returning her smile, secretly relishing how she delights in something as simple as a well-knotted bow tie. It’s a side of her he rarely sees. 

He marvels at her dress: a long, black, strapless affair. Simple yet elegant, it fits her perfectly. He’s always thought of her as beautiful, but tonight, she’s downright stunning. He has a sudden urge to bend down and kiss her, but instead settles for a breathless, “You look great, Scully.” 

She seems surprised - pleased even, - at the compliment; even in the dim light, he can see her blush, and it makes her all the more attractive. “Thank you, Mulder. You clean up nice, yourself.” 

It takes him a moment to realize that they’re now both staring at one another, each taking mental notes of how their unfamiliar attire highlights the other’s physical features.  
“We’d better get going,” she says quickly, saving both of them some face and ending their mutual awkward gazing. “I half-expect to see Kersh waiting for us at the entrance with a stopwatch.”

***

The gala is in full swing when they enter the Astor Ballroom of the St. Regis hotel. “Strangers in a strange land,” Mulder murmurs half-jokingly as they behold the crowd of tuxedos and evening gowns. A band keeps things lively with an enthusiastic rendition of ‘Anything Goes.’

He sees Kersh standing among a small group - mostly men - in the center of the room. One of them is speaking as the rest listen attentively. He recognizes the speaker as the Deputy Director. Moving on up, Mulder thinks, looking back to Kersh. Kersh glances up, notices him and Scully. He gives them a terse nod of acknowledgment. 

“Mission accomplished,” he whispers to Scully. “Let’s get outta here.” She grabs his wrist to prevent him from leaving.

“Mulder, you can bet Kersh will be keeping tabs on us throughout the evening. Besides, we each paid one hundred and fifty dollars for the privilege to be here.”

“Make that two hundred and fifty for me,” he interjects. “It ain’t cheap to rent a tux.” 

“All the more reason to stay, then,” she continues. “Get your money’s worth.”

He sighs, nodding ruefully. In an attempt to quell his frustration, he snags two champagne flutes from a passing waiter and hands one of them to her. “To mandatory fun,” he says and raises his glass to hers. “May this be our first - and last - FBI Charity Gala.”

“Hear, hear.” She clinks her glass to his and takes a tentative sip. He sees her face light up as the champagne registers with her taste buds. “At least the champagne’s good,” she says, indulging in another drink with the same look of delight she wore when she knotted his bow tie. 

They move to occupy a lonesome high-top partially hidden behind a pillar. Together, they watch the other gala attendees: couples and small gaggles of co-workers talking, drinking, and dancing. Besides Kersh and the Deputy Director, he only recognizes a few individuals; even Skinner appears to have skipped this year’s event. There’s a certain intimacy in large parties, he thinks, recalling a line from The Great Gatsby. So many people they don’t know, and who don’t know them. Years of occupying a basement office will do that, he thinks, feeling a stab of pain as the next thought is the melancholy awareness that they no longer work down there. 

He glances over at Scully. We’re still together, at least, he thinks. She’s observing her fellow party-goers, and seems to be enjoying herself; she’s even tapping her fingers to the beat of the band on the tabletop. She seems relaxed and happy: two emotions she hasn’t displayed for what seems like ages, at least not in front of him. For the second time this evening, he imagines what it would be like to kiss her.

She must sense his eyes on her, because she turns her head to look at him.

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?” he says, smiling, trying to act normal. 

“Actually, yes, I am. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad Kersh made us go to this thing. I don’t often get to indulge myself like this.”

He feigns a shocked expression at this and she punches his arm playfully. 

“I’m glad to see you enjoying yourself, Scully.” 

His sincerity must register as odd to her, because he sees her expression shift from amusement to one of concern . “Aren’t you?” she asks.

His lips are open, ready to respond resoundingly in the affirmative, but he’s distracted by the band, which starts in on another song. It’s a slow ballad; he smiles as he recognizes the tune. 

“Scully, would you -”

“Fox,” a familiar yet unwelcome voice intrudes and cuts short his question. So much for anonymity, he thinks as he turns, slowly, reluctantly away from Scully to face Diana Fowley.

“Diana. Good to see you. You, uh, look beautiful.” And she does. Her burgundy dress is strapless and low-cut; its tight fit makes it impossible not to notice certain parts of her anatomy.

“Thank you, you look quite handsome yourself.” Diana looks beyond him to where Scully stands. “Agent Scully,” she says, giving her a curt nod.

Scully manages a small smile in response, her face a mask of pleasantness. Mulder, however, his senses attuned from years of working in proximity to Dana Scully, notices the slightest pursing of her lips. She’s annoyed. He briefly wonders who would win in a fight: Diana or Scully. If I were a betting man, he thinks, glancing at both of them, I’d put my money on Scully. 

“Would you care to dance, Fox?” 

“Sure,” he says, casting a brief glance at Scully. Her face is utterly inscrutable now, even to him. A bad sign, he thinks, recalling previous episodes in which he’s been on the receiving end of that impassable expression. Scully turns away and proceeds to take a long draw from her champagne flute, effectively shunning the two of them.  
Reluctantly, he allows Diana to lead him into the middle of the dance floor. 

“How’s life in the bullpen these days?” she asks, in an obvious attempt to engage him in conversation.

“Wonderful, if you’re into running background checks on postal workers.” He’s in no mood for small talk. The song, which just moments ago held the promise of a dance with Scully, now feels like a dirge with Diana.

“You know, the odds of your rejoining the X-Files are improving.” Despite his desperate wish to get through the next three to four minutes with as little interaction as possible, Diana’s words get his attention. 

Seeing that she has an audience, she continues. “Spender is hellbent on getting out of the basement and climbing his way up the Bureau ladder. He already has Kersh’s attention with his success on the Davidson case.” Mulder recalls the case: one he and Scully had been working on for months prior to their reassignment. He’s sure Spender cut every corner - buried every hint of paranormal phenomenon - to close it. The FBI’s Golden Boy, he thinks bitterly.

“A couple of months, and I’ll be looking for a new partner. I’d like it to be you.”

He emits a short, caustic laugh. “You’re not serious, Diana. Kersh would never go for it.”

“I’m in a position to advocate for you now, Fox,” she says earnestly. “I have the ear of several powerful people in the Bureau. People above Kersh.”

I wonder who, and how you got their attention, he thinks, once more scrutinizing her dress. 

Diana notices the look. “You’ve been spending too much time with that cynical partner of yours, Fox,” she says, disdain evident in her voice. “You know I’m on your side. I always have been.” He glances back to where Scully is, or where he thinks she is; there are too many people between them for him to see her now. 

“Agent Scully will be fine.” Diana’s tone softens in an apparent attempt to placate his concern. “I hear she was considering going back to medicine not that long ago. Perhaps a job teaching forensic pathology at Quantico is in her future. Besides,” she says, moving her hand dangerously downwards towards his ass, “don’t you get tired of being second-guessed all the time?”

He stops dancing and firmly grasps Diana’s wrist, halting any further progression. “Diana, I appreciate the offer, I do, but I’m not interested. I can’t fathom being partners with anyone other than Scully at this point.”

“Even if it means losing the X-Files?” Her eyes flash as she says the words, an implication that it wouldn’t be the only thing he’d lose.

“Even if it means that, yes.” He’s surprised at his lack of hesitation, how easily those words come to his lips. I’m a different man now than I was five years ago, he thinks, and it’s all because of Scully. It’s impossible to separate her from what his life has become. Even now, amid the daily toil of Bullpen Purgatory and seemingly endless background checks, his frustration is tempered by her stalwart presence. The thought of going back to the X-Files without her is inconceivable - terrifying, even, like plunging into the darkest cave without a source of light to guide his steps. 

He feels Diana pull away. “It’s good to know where you stand on the subject,” she says matter-of-factly, her expression stony. “Enjoy your evening, Fox.” He watches her disappear into the sea of black suits and ball gowns. 

He makes his way back to the table. It’s now occupied by a few Agents he vaguely recalls as belonging to the Violent Crimes Section. Scully is nowhere in sight. His eyes frantically scan the crowd for her trim, familiar figure. Instead of Scully, he spots Skinner on the other side of the ballroom. He’s dancing with - of all people - Arlene, his administrative assistant. 

Mulder quickly weaves his way across the dance floor to them. “Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt, but have you seen Agent Scully this evening?”

“I spoke with her just a few minutes ago.” Skinner squints at him from behind wire-rimmed glasses, as if he’s trying to puzzle out why Mulder is asking him, their former boss - with whom they’ve had little contact for the past three months - where his partner is. “She led me to believe that she was going home.” More suspicious squinting. “Is something wrong, Agent Mulder?”

Mulder manages to get out a quick “No, sir. Thank you” before rushing for the exit. 

He finds her outside, trying to hail a cab. 

“Scully?”

She turns around, a look of surprise and, he sees, annoyance on her face. At least it’s an improvement from that impassable look she’d given him earlier. 

“It’s getting late. I figured I’d let you two enjoy yourselves.” Her eyes narrow as she speaks, causing him to avert his gaze. 

He shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Let’s just say the music changed, and, uh, it wasn’t to my taste,” he says, with the appropriate amount of embarrassment, chancing a glance back up at her.

She raises an inquisitive eyebrow, but instead of pressing him on this maddeningly vague admission of regret, absolves him with a nod and small smile. Always a paragon of grace, he thinks, not ungratefully, and immediately curses himself for every time he’s taken her for granted. 

Feeling emboldened by her response, he takes her hand. 

“Come on, let’s get outta here.” He leads her down the street, away from the St. Regis.

***

“Something tells me we’re a little overdressed for this place,” she comments upon entering the bar. The walls are covered with numerous taxidermied heads and the instruments with which they presumably met their ends. A chandelier of deer antlers hangs prominently above the neon-lit bar. Men in T-shirts and ball caps nurse their beers while watching an Orioles game on a television screen. In the back, a jukebox plays while a few couples tipsily sway back and forth on a tiny dance floor. 

“Don’t let the dive bar appearance fool you, Scully. This place is legendary in DC. From the loftiest Senator to the lowliest construction worker, everyone’s welcome here at the Tune Inn.”

“Some more than others, it would appear.” She gestures to a sign on the wall: Men: No Shirt, No Service. Women: No Shirt, Free Drinks. 

“Yep,” she says. “I’m way overdressed.”

He laughs. Leave it to her to have the final word. 

Despite the Saturday night crowd, they manage to snag an empty booth towards the back.

The server brings two Shiner Bocks, one of which he raises in the air. “Another toast. This time, to us.” He can feel the champagne from earlier kicking in, providing him with an extra measure of courage, so he plunges forward. “To you, actually,” he says, meeting her eyes. She’s clearly surprised, but remains quiet, waiting for him to go on.

“Thank you for putting up with me these past six years. I know I’m not the easiest person to work with.” 

Now it’s Scully’s turn to feign shock. 

He laughs and continues, his tone more serious now. “You may not agree with everything I say or do, but you’ve always respected the journey,” he says, echoing the words he spoke to her years ago, on their second case together. “You’ve always had my back - even when I was too selfish or too stupid to do the same for you. I’m sorry. You deserve better, Scully.”

She surprises him by reaching across the table and taking his hand. “Mulder, I appreciate what you’re trying to tell me, but believe me when I say that I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He feels her give his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Even now? With all of the bullshit assignments and paper pushing we’re stuck with? Wouldn’t you rather be doing something else?” He knows he runs the risk of getting an answer he doesn’t want to hear, pressing her like this, but now, more than ever, he needs to hear the truth from her. 

“Actually, no, I wouldn’t. As frustrating as the new assignment has been, there’s a constant that’s carried over from the X-Files that still keeps me going.” She pauses and looks meaningfully at him. “It’s more fun with you, Mulder,” she says quietly, as if this is the first time she’s admitting it to herself. “And until they split us up, I’m not going anywhere.”

He doesn’t realize he’s been clutching her hand with an anxious, white-knuckled grip until she’s finished speaking. He eases his grip, but to his surprise, she doesn’t pull away.  
Another song starts on the jukebox and he realizes it as the same tune from earlier in the evening. She must recognize it as well, because a knowing smile suddenly appears on her face. “I believe this is Elvis’s way of saying that that you owe me a dance, Mulder,” she says teasingly.

He returns the smile. “Who am I to say no to the King?” Still holding her hand, he rises from the table and leads her onto the dance floor. 

And I love you so,  
The people ask me how,  
How I’ve lived till now  
I tell them I don’t know  
I guess they understand  
How lonely life has been  
But life began again  
The day you shook my hand  
And yes I know how lonely life can be  
Shadows follow me  
The night won’t set me free  
But I don’t let the evening get me down  
Now that you’re around me  
And you love me too  
Your thoughts are just for me  
You set my spirit free  
I’m happy that you do  
The book of life is brief  
Once the page is read  
All but love is dead  
That is my belief 

The music ends, leaving them alone on the beer-stained dance floor. She looks up at him, smiling, and for the third time this evening, he wonders what it would be like to kiss Dana Scully. Enough wondering. He moves quickly, instinctively to meet her lips with his. Instead of resistance, he’s pleasantly surprised to feel her reciprocate with a gentle pressure of her mouth. He allows himself to linger for a few moments, gingerly exploring the geography of her mouth with his tongue, savoring the taste of her lips. 

He feels her pulling away, and he suddenly wonders if he’s crossed a line. 

Before he can get words out, she beats him to it. “I’ll admit, Mulder, this wasn’t the way I was expecting the evening to turn out.” 

Elation turns to panic. “Scully, I-” 

She cuts him off by pressing her hand to his mouth. 

“But like I said,” she continues, trying - and failing - to hide a smile, “It’s more fun with you, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

She reaches up and kisses him.


End file.
